What can I say? It's been a while. And it hasn't been all Sunday swims at China Camp, but who really wants to see the tear-streaked automotive bills and lunches cobbled together from the kindness of co-workers and the reality of cat ownership which involves a dusting of fur on every single thing I own? Oh, you do? I'll get right on it. Until then, let's get some selective memory up in here.

And then there suddenly appeared before me? It’s a common misconception (but one that’s generally accepted) that a Blue Moon is the second full moon in a single month. But truly, this is not the case. In reality, a Blue Moon is the 3rd full moon in a season when that season has 4 full moons instead of the usual 3, seasons being specifically marked by equal 3 month intervals between solstices and equinoxes, rather than just calendar quarters. Scientifically speaking, an average lunar cycle is 29.53 days long and one solar year has approximately 365.25 days. If we divide 365.25 days by 29.53 days we come out with 12.37 lunations, which doesn’t quite fit with our tidy Gregorian Calendar of precisely 12 months in a year (the word “month” being derived from the word “moon” somewhere or other). Thus, each calendar year will be approximately 11 days longer than the number of days in 12 lunar cycles. While we throw in a Leap Year here and there, the extra days continue to accumulate and so, every two or three years (7 times in the 19-year-long Metonic Cycle), there will be an extra full moon falling within the 12 month calendar. Since the year is divided into four seasons, that extra moon will necessarily fall into one of them, creating a season of 4 moons rather than 3. “Now”, one might ask, “why is it the 3rd moon and not the last moon in that season considered to be the extra or “Blue” moon? And why the term Blue?” (I should add that if you’re not asking those questions, there’s not much point in reading the rest of this.) The answer to both begins with the early Christian church defining Easter as the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox (a mouthful, I know, and not even an original one if you take Passover into consideration). Therefore, it became incredibly important to correctly predict the equinox, especially when there was a full moon close to it, as an incorrect prediction would lead to an incorrect assignation of date and the damnation of entire villages if Lent was ended early (this was not a kind and generous God in those days). We now know that the spring equinox (the day when day and night are of equal length and the sun rises exactly in the East and sets exactly in the West) is going to occur on or around March 21st and a remarkable amount of our modern mathematics and astronomy was derived from this early quest to accurately predict that date. And so we get to the origins of the term “Blue Moon”: with the God referred to not being one to take Lenten vows lightly, clergymen needed to tell their flock which moon was the one signifying the coming of Easter and warn them in the case of a false full moon, which would have them accidentally ending Lent a month early---this false full moon was then named a “Belewe” (translating to “Betrayer”) Moon, and you can guess what happened from there. The particular Blue Moon picture above occurred on August 20th, 2013 and the next of its kind won’t come around til May 21st, 2016. Of definite note is the fact that the next time a Blue Moon falls on New Year’s Eve will be Dec. 31st, 2028, which will end one Metonic Cycle. It’ll also be a total lunar eclipse. Get ready.

Back in May we took a short trip to the desert to celebrate the marriage of two awesome friends and while there got to visit a site I've long been fascinated by: The Integratron in Landers, California. I first came across the Integratron in an amazing book The Visionary State, a book which (along with pretty much everything written by Mike Davis) inspired a great many adventures and the creation of The Landlubber (which of course has digressed a bit from its original intent, but I digress as well). If you're not familiar with the Integratron's reputation, you're in for a treat. What you're looking at is a 38-foot high, 55-foot wide, domed structure built entirely without metal, the only all-wood, acoustically perfect sound chamber in the United States. It's the creation of George Van Tassel, an aeronautical engineer and test pilot for Lockheed, Douglas and Hughes Aviation (where my maternal grandfather also worked) who designed it for rejuvenation and time travel, incorporating the writings of Nikola Tesla, Moses' Tabernacle and instructions from extraterrestrials with whom he had been in contact. All of this began in 1947 when Van Tassel moved his family to the Mojave desert near Landers, Ca. and set up residence next to the world's largest (7 stories high) free-standing boulder, aptly named Giant Rock. The Van Tassels leased 4 square miles from the U.S. government and opened up the Giant Rock airport and Come On Inn cafe. In the early 1950s Van Tassel began holding weekly meditation sessions in rooms underneath Giant Rock (excavated by a prospector named Frank Critzer who lived in the rooms until he blew himself up) which he claimed put him in touch with extraterrestrials. In August of 1953, Van Tassel was visited by a spacecraft from the planet Venus and invited onboard, where he was given the key to rejuvenating living cells. Thus began the building of the Integratron, which Van Tassel described as "a machine, a high voltage electrostatic generator that would supply a broad range of frequencies to recharge cell structure." According to Van Tassel's theory, the site chosen for the Integratron is an intersection of geomagnetic forces and the structure's unique shape allows those forces to amplify, focusing their rejuvenating and healing powers onto those inside. (While you may not believe in the healing aspect of said forces, a geophysicist measured a 15-mile radius around the Integratron back in 2005 and found that there is in fact an unexplainable spike of magnetic energy at the structure's center.) Throughout the 1950s, 60s and 70s, Van Tassel hosted widely attended Interplanetary Spacecraft Conventions, using the money to fund the Integratron project (which, interestingly, was built by shipwrights using 16 glued and laminated spines held together by one ton of concrete at its apex). Another interesting (but not terribly surprising) fact is that Howard Hughes was a significant financial supporter (Hughes being a bit of an eccentric himself, if I may say so). In 1978, Van Tassel suddenly passed away, leaving behind the epitaph "Birth through induction, death through short circuit" and that chapter of the Integratron closed. But it certainly didn't end things for good and after a rough couple decades, the Integratron found a solid foundation in the Karl Sisters who've opened it up for tours and "sound baths" that continue to utilize the space for alternative health and spiritual healing through neuroacoustics, while allowing those not looking quite as far as the stars to enjoy its architecture on the ground. In 2005, a historical monument was erected by the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus, making it's existence official.

Magnetic Fields? The Integratron is about 2 hours from L.A. or 25 minutes from Joshua Tree and wll worth a day trip (or weekend adventure). Getting there is pretty straightforward from the L.A. area, take whichever freeway you like to the 10 east, then take that to Hwy 62 towards Twentynine Palms. Turn north onto Old Woman Springs Rd (Hwy 247) and after about 10 miles up, take a right onto Reche Rd then a left onto Belfield. Keep an eye out for a sign on the right and head through the gate when you see it, there's a parking area and the Integratron's behind a wooden fence you can walk through. If you want to actually go inside the structure, either for a tour or a sound bath, you should definitely call in advance and make a reservation as there's a steady stream of visitors all year round (and not just the interplanetary kind).

Got invited to a wedding reception some time ago at the iconic "Launch For Hire" boathouse in Inverness, Ca. I'd always wondered what it was like in there and the answer is that it's as old and and awesome as one would hope, especially when filled with oysters and cheeses and handfuls of lovely people.

But I imagine it'd be just as neat without all that as well.

I think I could be perfectly happy living in a boathouse over the water. Padding around on sun-soaked wood in the afternoons then sleeping with the doors wide open to watch the moon shine at night. Winter might be a different story, but that's what wood-burning stoves are for, no?

To the boathouse? If you've ever driven through Inverness, you've probably wondered at this spot as well. Built around 1913 (the wharf a few years earlier in 1908), it stands as one of the only remaining boathouses along that side of Tomales Bay and was apparently quite a hub of activity in its day. In the early 20th century it was known simply as the Brock Schreiber boathouse after its owner (Brock Schreiber, of course) who kept two launches he used to carry passengers from the train stop in Millerton (north of Pt. Reyes Station across the bay) over to Inverness. Launches also took passengers to secluded beaches along Tomales' shore for picnicking and swimming and Schreiber kept a fleet of small sailboats for rent as well. In 1978 the boathouse was added to the National Register of Historic places and while there we got the story on who currently owns it, but of course I've since forgotten. I do know it can be rented out for events and I think they hold classes there from time to time, so ask around the next time you're up that way and maybe you'll be hiring your own launch soon enough.

We did it. Again. Not only did we win the pennant and make it to the Series, we won it all in a sweep over the Tigers. Pretty damn good if you ask me. (And if you needed to ask me, you'd have found me glued to the same spot , drinking the same damn thing, every single game. That's superstition for you.)

And then we got a little crazy.

And then the sky rained black and orange and Halloween came just in time.

What, me worry? Never the overconfident here, but something this year felt different. Perhaps it was simply the unbelievability of our making it again so soon. Whereas 2010 had so much at stake, 2012 was just that added amazement that makes life so unpredictably fantastic. It kind of felt like just getting to the Series again was an incredible accomplishment and we'd be happy whatever the outcome, so much so that there was a sense of relaxed glee watching what came next and even the post-win chaos didn't have quite the same aggression as the first time around. Of course I'm neglecting all the games of silent nail-biting and tears leading up to all that, so maybe I'm just full of sentiment. Either way, we burned it down, cleaned it up and played a damn fine game.

Golden hour? I don't generally mess around with different types of film (and for good reason judging by the other 23 photos on this roll), but a roll of slide film and a dying light meter managed to produce this gem, which I think sums up a brilliant evening.

Oh, man. If I could squirrel away to some small cabin furnished with only one plate, one bowl and a lone coffe cup, they'd probably all be made by Heath. While I'll admit to not swooning for every piece they turn, the ratio is still pretty damn high. I can also never resist any sort of behind-the-scenes field trip---likely due to that segment of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood and followed up in later years by my mother's excitement over dragging us to the Lawry's spice factory (totally abandoned by the time we got there) or Leinenkugel's Brewery (safety goggles and all, it was actually super awesome).

A trip to the original Heath Ceramics factory in Sausalito definitely didn't disappoint. Got to walk through the inner workings with a really sweet and informative gal who didn't care that my jaw was slack the entire time and let me shoot photos with that audibe click that makes everyone else turn and stare. Found out that all the molds are still handmade by one craftsman and retouched or re-made as they start to wear down.

Each piece is also still hand turned with the help of wood and metal attachments that keep them uniform. All the handles are applied by a select crew whose sole occupation is the fitting of handles. "Handle fitting specialist" sounds like a fine moniker.

My favorite tiles, hand-pressed and waiting to be fired.

Even the studio itself is cool---not an inch of unused space and a true workshop inhabited by craftsmen.

I'll be back, you can count on that (and not just for the less expensive seconds...)

Factory to you?Heath's Sausalito factory is open 7 days a week with a lovely selection of goods and newly fired stock coming out after 3pm every day. Tours are given twice a day on Saturday and Sunday and no reservations are required. Not to be missed is the side room of seconds (superficial imperfections) and thirds (more structural cracks, etc) at major discounts. The also have an overstock tile room where you can dream of saffron yellow kitchens and cerulean bathrooms---then take home your favorite shade for $1. Got to love that kind of dreaming.

Sometimes I get that egotistic irritation that the best part of my personality (aside from the part I'm sitting on) is being Disneylandified for mass consumption. Is it just me or is Noir so very hip right now? Or did everyone grow up on Hammett and Chandler and lose their shit when the Cohen brothers came out with Miller's Crossing? I suppose if you moved to San Francisco for the Tenderloin's fading bricks or Chinatown's hidden alleys, there's the distinct possibility that you've got it as bad as I and long for a speakeasy with that longing for a time and place as much as a physical location. Thus, the "speakeasies" cropping up lately leave me in a mini conundrum. Do I want to like them because they're trying to capture what I wish I could find? Or are they irritating because they open that dream up to anyone savvy enough to google the word "speakeasy"? Its a life's work trying not to embrace that other people are into the same things as we are---and why not? I still dig the library at Bourbon and Branch on a quiet night and the retro-fitting of old haunts just means we get to share in a memory that would otherwise be just that...a memory and nothing more. There are definitely hits and misses in this category, though, and while that part of me braced itself to find Wilson and Wilson just too damn precious with its backstory and secret entrance, the truth is...it kind of ruled. Sure, there were the usual twelve-dollar-multiple-tincture-cocktail types, but the room only holds about 18 at full capacity, so other people just don't feel obtrusive and the tone is set by the brick and wallpapered walls and beautiful hardbound books and knicknacks. Plus, you're there for the cocktails, too and they're knockouts. Seriously. We each got the flight of three ($30) and the Pinkerton was a standout hit (with bourbon, coffee syrup, cranberry infused angostura orange bitters and tobacco bourbon tincture its a mouthful to talk about, a pleasure to down). The Phantom, Red Scarab, Fu Manchu and Truth Serum all fared equally well til we staggered out drunk as skunks into the blinding Thursday sunlight feeling like we'd gone 8 rounds with a guy named Lump. Friday always looks bad through the end of a blackout tunnel, but sometimes its worth it. This was one.

Why not investigate on your own? Before you dismiss the case altogether, its worth delving into a little further. Perhaps some hands on research? Reservations can be scarce at prime cocktail hour, but if you don't mind the early or late shift you'll slide through that secret bookcase just fine.

Tall ship? Its a man after my own heart who lives on a dismasted ketch, but even if he's not going anywhere fast, the gent's got plenty going for him in the way of weather, rum and "hot pirate babes" calendars. Tryout my new favorite summer drink by squeezing a whole lime into the bottom of a glass, adding a shot (or two) of dark rum and filling the rest with selzter. On a boat it would appear ice is optional. Also, if you're ever on N. San Pedro Rd in San Rafael, stop off at Andy's Market next to Lock Lomond, they've got everything you need for a picnic in the sun.

Our friends Jack and Jo got married in one of the most delightful weddings I've ever been invited to (or invited to DJ at) on their place in Napa. No, no, that's Grayson and Dave...

Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, a bloody fine pair.

Celeste the dog.

Good times abounding.

I played records and the people danced. That's how it should be, don't you think?

Somewhere in there this happened.

I've heard it's character-building.

Lazy day after, rowing on the pond and taking advantage of leftover wines and cheese plates.

Church-turned-house.

Abe wins at croquet because he knows how to be in two places at once.

Into the dusk we go again.

Another evening goes down, complete with all the things Napa evenings sometimes contain: crickets, cocktails, meandering conversations and the occasional intoxication of new friends. Sometimes there's even an imaginary beacon to help you on your way.

Or sometimes there's two bottles of champagne and a sheepskin rug.

Another weekend at Jack and Jo's, this time spent in the caravan, circa 1940.

Walked past this exhibit at SFO a while back and was reminded a) how awesome pinball used to be and b) that whoever curates these shows has the best job ever. Vintage robots, Bauerware pottery, South Seas artifacts, it's incredible. In fact, the SFO Museum (as it's technically known) was the first cultural institution of it's kind created in an international airport (c. 1980). Pinball, one might argue, is a cultural institution of its own, dating back well over 100 years and counting. While the asthetics may have gotten a little off-kilter, there's no doubting the satisfaction a person gets from whacking a ball and watching it light shit up. Mmmm, baseball anyone?

Who's a Baffle Baller? While the SFO exhibit came down a long time ago, you can still get your vintage pinball fix at Lucky Juju (aka the Pacific Pinball Museum) over in Alameda. $15 buys you unlimited free games on nearly 100 different machines. My fingers ache just thinking about it.

Not the silent type? This winter saw the full-steam emergence of another classic game in the boisterous yet thoughtful category (see: Trivial Pursuit)---Jenga! Who would've known it'd dominate late nights and fancy-dress parties alike? And who would've guessed it wasn't officially a game til the 1980's? Or that a lady named Leslie Scott based it off a game her family played while living in Ghana in the early 1970's and called it "Jenga" from the swahili verb "to build"? And who the hell would've imagined that that tallest Jenga tower may have reached 40 2/3 levels? Well, now you know. I dare you to beat level 34 without waking the neighbors.

Went down to the old San Francisco Mint for an open house organized by her caretakers the SF Museum and Historical Society. A handful of historical organizations set up tables with info and the entire building was open to the public, an incredible treat for anyone who's walked past the "Granite Lady" on Mission and 5th and wondered at how amazing it must be inside.

The answer is of course, absolutely amazing. Got to enter the vaults where, by the 1930s one-third of the nations gold reserves were stored. In 1877 alone, over fifty-million dollars in coins were produced there and from from 1874 to 1937 the Old Mint was the most active mint in the United States.

Not to mention it withstood the 1906 earthquake because its architect Alfred B. Mullett knew the west coast was subject to earthquakes and designed the Old Mint to "float" on its foundations. Thus, the Mint rode out the catastrophe practically undamaged while buildings all around fell into rubble.

Inside the actual vaults you can see where thousands of tons of coins have left their indentations on the walls. One of which may have been the silver dollar later used by Mayor Willie Brown to purchase the Old Mint from the federal government in 2003. That's right, we bought this lady for one whole dollar.

Tried my hand at curing olives and oddly enough, succeeded. 8 weeks in a salt bath, followed by a marinating with lemon zest, allspice, peppercorns, chili flakes, bay leaves and whatever else I felt like throwing in. Came out damn fine.

Also tried my hand at homemade pizza dough, following a recipe in The Wild Table, a Christmas present from Franklin. One of the best and most thoughtful gifts I've ever gotten and so far everything from it has been delicious. For someone who's never been much of a bread maker, good pizza's no small feat.

With turnips and Jerusalem artichokes, no less.

Went to the Dump and saw Suzanne Husky and Ferris Plock's beautiful residency show. Suzanne's Sleeper Cells made me want to build a little cabin like crazy.

Looking back it would appear maybe winter wasn't so terrible after all. I love selective memory...